


underneath the light of a thousand stars

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Domestic Fluff, Flashbacks, Kid Fic - sort of, M/M, Mutual Pining, a love for ed sheeran music, and a bit of smut, or a lot in one part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2452859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>'They are his gravity.  His pull when the world keeps pushing, tugging.  His core.  It all sounds silly in his head but when he looks up through his lashes, Liam smiles at him like he gets it.'</i>
</p>
<p>(or relatively: quiet moments in Zayn's life with Liam and their son, right next to him)</p>
            </blockquote>





	underneath the light of a thousand stars

**Author's Note:**

> This small fic is based off a [prompt request](http://jmcats.tumblr.com/post/99194564093/hi-you-gave-me-the-name-itunes-i-was-wondering-if) for something revolving around Ed Sheeran's "Thinking Out Loud." Also, because I wanted to write another small fluff piece and a slight kid!fic.
> 
> I hope the flashback scenes aren't too confusing in the style that I write. Major love to everyone who inspired me to keep writing after my last piece.
> 
> Title, obviously, taken from "Thinking Out Loud" lyrics

 

 

 

Zayn thinks, fondly, being in love sounds a little like this –

 

///

 

He can barely hear the padding of his bare feet along the hardwood floors of the house. He’s cupping a hot cup of black tea between his fingers, the heat searing but comforting, and blowing softly at the steam while moving towards a dim light down the hall.  There’s muffled giggling like the sound created by someone still unaccustomed to the noise and a quiet voice that warms a smile to Zayn’s lips.  The entire house is dark, stains of moonlight pressing blues all over the walls from the large windows but Zayn knows every meter of this house with his eyes closed.

He knows the floors and the staircase and the soft carpet in one of the guest rooms.

He recognizes the quiet whir of the refrigerator at night, the static of the telly, the hum of the crickets in the distance.

He knows that pale light from a cracked door and the smile that smears over his lips is so recognizable. Even after all the years, it’s fumbled its way across his mouth.

“ – and Mr. Teddy Bear finally, _finally_ admitted he was madly in love with Mr. Puppy.  After ages, he finally said it and Mr. Puppy was over the moon, babe.  Bloody well excited.”

Zayn leans into the doorway of the room, trying to collapse his grin behind the lip of his mug. His heart starts up in this familiar, fast-paced rhythm he knows is all dopamine.  He just _knows_.  It ruts against his chest, uncontrollable, and his brow wrinkles a little to contain his smile.

Except, he can’t.

But he thinks he can at least try to.

He glances around the room – with the walls stained yellow, splashed with slashes of a pale blue, silly graffiti work he’s done around the borders – to the dresser with the habitually opened drawers. He finds the nightlight like a small beacon in the corner.  The carpet isn’t his choice in color but it’s soft under his toes like he remembers from his childhood.  The pale, fuzzy squares from the moon collapse against the corners of the room.  There’s a spinning mobile above a comfy, wooden crib and stuffed animals littering the floor and Zayn’s eyes immediately find something else to be distracted by –

A giggling baby with a pacifier muffling the noises. Soft skin like unmade caramel.  His eyes are dark like a dusky London sky.  His tiny fingers grip the edge of the crib like he’s trying to keep his balance while standing.  He’s got these round cheeks and hair barely long enough to curl – which reminds Zayn of another boy, in another city with a similar smile and it feels like a million years since _‘What Makes You Beautiful’_ – and Zayn can’t help but stare.

He hasn’t stopped gazing at this boy for months now but it still feels like yesterday.

Like an hour ago.

Like thirty seconds of your life that you never quite get back but, _wow_ , it’s worth it.

Zayn thinks the combination of hot tea and a racing heart are an awful combination but he tolerates all of it to graze his eyes towards Liam –

And fuck he can’t believe that it’s still overwhelming just to _look_ at Liam.

He’s leaning over the crib with a stuffed teddy bear in one hand, a soft puppy in the other. He’s pressing them together like they’re kissing and it’s comical, honestly.  He looks delighted with crinkles around his eyes, warm cheeks, lips twisting into a laughing smile.  It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t wear off, no matter how long it’s been.

Zayn barely wants to admit it but he’s still so captivated by just the way Liam still looks so half-buzzed on every little piece of life.

“It was a good day, babe,” Liam says, his voice rough from exhaustion but still so alive, “You should’ve seen the way Mr. Teddy Bear – “

Zayn clears his throat quietly, a crooked grin on his lips when Liam looks up at him.

“Babe,” he says slowly, patiently.

Liam shrugs, looking only slightly abashed. “Don’t be rude.”

Zayn snorts and rolls his eyes. He takes another low sip of his tea, dragging his toes in the carpet.

“What are you doing?” he asks when his throat cooperates because –

Liam looks soft, sleepy, and so _happy_.  It’s that childlike look Zayn remembers, distantly, from the start of their career.  From early interviews and all of the questions and _what’s next for One Direction?_ because he was still so in awe of it all.

That look still steals half of Zayn’s breath before he recognizes it.

“It’s late, babe,” he adds, still pressed into the doorway.

Liam gives him a lopsided smile, nodding a few times. “I missed him,” he replies, half-turning to the baby standing wobbly in the crib, watching them with wide eyes.

He reaches out, pushing at the small curls. “Feels like forever,” he whispers, grinning.  His teeth bite over his lip and Zayn wonders, shamelessly, how sweet they taste right now.  “Haven’t seen Bahi in too long.”

“It’s been three days,” Zayn snorts but he knows that feeling.

Deep in his bones, under his skin, right along the center of his chest, he _knows_ that feeling.

Liam has been off in California for songwriting sessions, meeting with producers, putting his name out there even more. He’s trying to escape the _‘Liam from One Direction’_ and slide gracelessly into _‘Liam Payne, songwriter and producer’_ and it’s mostly paid off.  A few credits here and there, a bunch of studio sessions, his name a constant buzz all over Twitter – without the other four attached, mostly.

He’s noticed, now, almost as much as Harry is. A little closer to Louis and his career in association football after the band.  More so than Niall, who’s just so _normal_ without them around.

But Zayn recognizes that feeling, being away from this place.

“He missed you too,” Zayn says, carefully. He smiles when a stretch of blush smudges over Liam’s cheeks.

“You too?” Liam wonders, cocking his head to the side.

Zayn laughs into his tea. He shrugs absently, fluttering his eyelashes.  “Mostly,” he mumbles, ignoring the mock-hurt expression Liam shoots him.  “That massive bed feels a tiny bit empty without you snoring in it.”

“I don’t snore,” Liam pouts.

Zayn can’t help his grin. He hides it in his cup, wriggling his eyebrows at Liam.

“I don’t snore, babe,” Liam says, turning back to the pair of softer eyes still watching them. “Trust me, Bahir, s’that one over there.”

Zayn groans and considers kicking a stuffed frog at Liam but Liam’s chuckle in their quiet house settles something warm and sticky in his lungs.

“So what’re doing, then?” Zayn asks. He watches Liam dance the puppy and teddy bear in front of Bahir until he’s squealing with the pacifier still shoved between his lips.

Liam smiles unevenly, leaning in just enough to press a sloppy kiss to Bahir’s forehead.

“M’telling our _son_ ,” Liam says and they both light up immediately at that.

It’s one of those feelings that never gets old, even though it’s only been four months.

Four months since, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon and after too many lawyers and questions, they brought Bahir home from the adoption agency.

“Just telling him, like, I dunno – the story of how we finally got together,” he continues, his voice a little sheepish, his cheeks a lot pink.

Zayn nods with a blank expression.

“See, Mr. Teddy Bear is you and, like,” Liam can’t stop grinning like mad, cheeks pushing at his eyes, “and then, Mr. Puppy here – “

“S’you,” Zayn grins, feeling just as silly as Liam looks.

Liam beams and Bahir wiggles in his crib, delighted.

Zayn clears his throat with a stretched smile. “You picked a brilliant time.  M’just getting Bahi to sleep in his crib, by himself.”

Liam chokes out a grin, palming the nape of his neck. He shrugs casually.

“I missed him,” he repeats, like an excuse or as a pass.

Zayn groans, trying to sound insufferable but, really, he can’t with Liam.

Not before they were _‘those lads from X-Factor, One Direction’_ and definitely not years after the band had broken up.

“I was telling him,” Liam starts, ignoring Zayn’s soft glare to turn back to Bahir, “how I loved you _first_ – “

Zayn makes a disgruntled sound immediately. He huffs into his tea until Liam looks at him, smiling cheekily.

“S’not true and y’know it,” Zayn argues with a wrinkled brow. “I was in love with you long before you had a clue.  And don’t quote cheeky pop songs to our son.”

Liam chuckles into his shoulder. There’s enough stubble along his jaw to hide the flush of pink on his skin.  His hair reminds Zayn of another time, a summer too long ago, with clipped edges and long, thick bits almost resembling a mohawk but not quite.

“You didn’t,” Liam smiles. He still can’t wink properly but he _tries_ and Zayn doesn’t have enough energy to scold him.

Instead, he lowers his cup to tilt his head. “You didn’t,” he says, mockingly.

“We could call _Tommo_ – “

Zayn rolls his eyes. “He was still too _infatuated_ – “

“Harsh words, Malik,” Liam laughs, his eyes crinkling again.

“ – with one _Harry Styles_ to even remember the way I was all stroppy over you.  A complete fire hazard, man.  Ask Niall.  He remembers.”

“Horan,” Liam sings while flicking his tongue out to wet his lips –

and Zayn can’t help the shudder up his spine because it’s been a week too long since that tongue traced a slow line from his ribs all the way to the soft skin on the inside of his thighs

– before smirking “barely remembers last month. He’s on a constant bender these days.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, trying to subdue the laugh in his chest. “He’d still remember.”

“Babe,” Liam sighs with a quirk to his lips, “almost everyone remembers _pining_ Zayn Malik.  It’s well documented, yeah?  YouTube and stuff.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose at him. There’s a hot blush high on his cheeks and he scratches dull nails at his evening stubble to avoid meeting Liam’s eyes.  “Wasn’t that bad,” he lies, dragging his tongue over his own lips.  His face scrunches when Liam’s eyebrows lift and, possibly, he was a bit disgustingly in love with Liam back then.

_Possibly_.

Liam hums softly, thumbing back the curls on Bahir’s forehead.

“Was just about to tell the little one,” Liam says with a smile and his eyes falling on Bahir, “about our first kiss. D’you remember that?”

“The first one _you_ remember,” Zayn teases, laughing when Liam looks flustered.

His heart speeds up and he acknowledges the sleepy smile crossing Liam’s lips before he thinks –

(It’s in Madrid. It’s somewhere in a set list that Zayn can’t quite remember but he knows it’s seconds after _‘Last First Kiss’_ and just before _‘Moments’_ when Liam bounds across the stage to leap on him and Louis.  It’s laughable, the way Liam’s face scrunches up with a grin and how Zayn can barely hear Louis’ talking above the roar of the crowd or the thud of his heart in his ears.

He registers the crinkles around Liam’s eyes, the stretch of his pink lips when he grins just for Zayn.

He looks just at Zayn, even though he’s sprawled across both of them.

They’re sharing laughter with labored breaths and Louis’ going on and on, like always, when Liam crowds in just enough that their noses brush.

Gentle, obnoxiously affectionate and Zayn retaliates by mimicking Liam. He nuzzles his nose back, still giggling, still so absorbed in the adrenaline of the show and the tour has been so _incredible_ and the crowds are getting louder and louder.

He’s buzzing so loudly underneath his skin that he almost misses the flash in Liam’s eyes.

Its dark on this part of the stage and the world is probably watching Harry or laughing at Niall and Liam’s eyes still look like an earthy brown before they flutter shut.

Before he leans in just enough to press his lips softly against Zayn’s.

It’s seconds long but Zayn can’t ever seem to forget the touch, the taste of it. He keeps his eyes open – like an idiot – for most of it and he watches the way Liam’s eyelashes sweep over his cheekbones.  He doesn’t immediately understand the flush to Liam’s cheeks or the way he looks so euphoric in that moment but he remembers the kiss.

Soft, chapped lips pressed to his mouth. Their noses brushing when Liam applies a gentle pressure.  The way their mouths fit, in the dark of the stage, and his hand skimming Liam’s hip until Liam trembles.

It’s the world moving at light speed and his heart pounding and the sweetness that lingers on Liam’s lips from a sour raspberry Gatorade before the show.

It’s the kind of kiss too short to categorize but it’s almost, of all of them, Zayn’s favorite kiss.

He doesn’t think about it when Liam pulls away, looking incredibly embarrassed and shamefully nervous, for the rest of the show because.

Well, he _can’t_ if he wants to finish the rest of their songs.

And because Liam never mentions it between all of the whispers they still share on stage or the little looks like they can’t believe how amazing the crowd is.

He tries to forget it or forget _Liam_ for hours afterwards but he keeps biting his lip, absently, until his teeth gnaw away the feeling.)

Liam smirks at him, halfway across the room, fumbling fingers in Bahir’s hair.

“Well then,” Liam huffs, still with a helpless grin that Zayn mirrors, “the first time that I kissed you, you donut.”

Zayn presses his temple to the doorway. He bites along his smile and spots all of the nervous energy running through Liam’s muscles.

It’s the way he always gets when he’s chatting about something between them. Something intimate.  Something they didn’t recognize immediately or, at least, didn’t talk about with each other.

“S’not the first time,” Zayn says, soft and with goosebumps tickling up his forearms. He lifts an eyebrow when Liam shoots him this confused look.  “You kissed me when we were messing about – “

(They’re so _young_.

Rolling about some random hotel in a city he’ll never remember, while Louis and Niall sing loudly to old Arctic Monkey tunes and Harry munches through a bag of crisps to black and white films.

They’re fighting for control, even though back then Liam was still stronger and broader and determined, and knocking into the bed to try and pin each other down. He _lets_ Liam win – not really – because he’s breathless with laughter and Liam’s got his wrists in a tight hold above his head.

There’s noise from the telly and half of _‘I bet that you look good on the dance floor, I don’t know if you’re looking for romance or’_ in his ears and Liam’s giving him this distant look.

No, it’s nervous and anxious because he’s biting away at his soft, pink lip.

They keep sharing aborted laughs and he tilts his hips down to hide his semi from Liam because.

Mates don’t catch a _stiffy_ when they’re wrestling about, alright?

They also don’t feel their heart racing up their throats or watch the way sweat sticks to tan skin or imagine tugging fingers through thick fringe to pick out the color in their mate’s eyes.

But it’s all _Liam_ , he thinks.

The way no one is paying attention to them – because they’re _the quiet ones_ , just Zayn and Liam, their own little city in this big world – and how his own lips tilt quietly upward at the worried look in Liam’s brow.

It’s Liam who drags his hips down – Zayn pretends the lump in Liam’s trackies is nothing more than a dream or an extension of a muscle in his thigh – and leans in with wide eyes to kiss him.

It’s so quick but it’s not. It’s actually slow and methodic, as much as two boys can be when they’ve barely known each other or experienced things like this.

But Zayn kisses back as soon as Liam’s mouth covers his. He drags it out.  He loves the feeling of Liam’s dry lips with his own hands gripping Liam’s hips hard.  Liam’s got one hand tangled in his hair and a tentative tongue that withdraws before it really slides into Zayn’s mouth.

It’s a properly brilliant snog that ends so abruptly when Niall thumps down between them with a laugh.

“My boys,” he wheezes while Liam stumbles back, losing balance.

Zayn catches him with strong, hungry fingers on Liam’s waist while Niall laughs into his ear about, “You two knobs are so silly. I wan’ a snog next.  Me next.  Love you lads.”

And Zayn would find it amusing, too, but Liam’s got these blown-wide eyes and his bottom lip between his teeth again and a look Zayn absolutely crumbles over.

The look you give someone when you’ve made a mistake.)

“ – if I ‘member correctly.”

Liam scrunches his nose with a soft laugh.

“Y’know, I quite remember that differently,” he says with a quirked eyebrow.

Zayn rolls his eyes immediately.

_The smug bastard_ still _can’t admit to it_ , he thinks but he doesn’t say it out loud.

Liam half-turns to Bahir again with a crooked grin. “I think he was quite a bit in love with me then,” he remarks before looking back at Zayn.  “Weren’t you babe?”

He was. Massively.  Madly.

“I dunno. Maybe a little bit,” Zayn says with a noncommittal shrug.  “Nothing I didn’t get over, right?”

Liam gives off a wounded moan, wrinkling his face. Bahir laughs into his pacifier, drool sliding down his chin.  He pads his hands softly over Liam’s knuckles, still trying to maintain some sense of balance in his crib.

“You’ve got me there, mate.”

Zayn knows he does, but this is not a pissing contest, no matter how competitive he knows Liam is. This isn’t about winning.  But, well –

He’s not really sure what it’s about.

It’s something he doesn’t want to think about, the _‘getting over Liam’_ part, so he takes a long swallow of tea to settle his nerves.

“Babe, it’s late,” he sighs, reaching up to fumble bits of thick hair out of his face.

Liam watches him, a little stunned, and Zayn laughs to himself because Liam is still sort of in love with the way Zayn lets his hair grow out sometimes.

Just enough to wear a headband to push it out of his face and enough thickness that Liam can wrap his fingers around it for a nice tug when Zayn is sliding Liam’s cock in his throat, swallowing around it, or in those incredible moments when Liam’s chest is against his spine and Zayn is indecently loud when Liam grips his hair for a messy kiss while he thrusts recklessly into Zayn.

But those thoughts make his cock twitch and he knows that’s a bit inappropriate with Bahir in the same room.

“Alright. I’ve quite missed this little one though,” Liam groans with his hand gently cupping the back of Bahir’s head.  He shifts a bit to look at Zayn, stretching his neck and exposing his goofy smile.  “Maybe you too.”

“Maybe,” Zayn repeats, grinning into his tea.

He’s still not over the way Liam’s eyes look like this – bright and fond and so small when his cheeks lift.

“Just five more minutes, yeah? I wanna finish the story, ‘kay?” Liam offers.

Zayn refuses to fight him when Bahir’s making these grabbing motions with his fingers at Liam. Like he can’t bare the separation –

He knows the feeling.

Zayn nods at him, turning on his heels before sparing a look over his shoulder at Liam when he crowds in close to the crib again with the teddy bear and puppy already in his hands.

His feet thump onto the hardwood floors in the hallway and Zayn hides his smile, even though no one is watching him, in the dark of the house when he walks away.

 

///

 

He’s in his painting room, sketching lazily.

Zayn is sat with his feet folded underneath him. The carpet beneath him feels soft and rough at the same time.  He’s staring at a wall splattered in various colors – angry red, soothing greens, explosive yellows – and there’s graffiti scattered all over it but none of it makes sense.

Well, not to anyone but him.

He’s got a half a sketch of a Batman on one wall, Captain America on the opposite one. His old leather couch from years ago – in a house to himself, before any of this – sits crookedly in a corner.  There’s spots all in the carpet from the paint and empty aerosol cans tipped over near a blank canvas.

Its chaos is what it is but, for him, it’s a _calm_.

He picks at his shredded jeans that are already messy from paint stains. His teeth keep tugging on his bottom lip until its sore because he can’t quite think –

He can, actually. Clearly.  Almost like that feeling he used to get when he and Louis would share a joint, in another unknown city, on another tour.

But he can’t focus on anything in particular.

Sometimes, in here, he thinks about the boys. He thinks about the last tour and the last performance and, sometimes, that last month and a half they spent together in the studio trying to perfect something they never broke.

He thinks about how much he misses them, like missing a body part. He can still function properly, of course, but maybe it’s more like missing an organ, really.

It’s the way he doesn’t hear Niall’s laughter in his ear as much or the way Harry _constantly_ had to touch him to express everything his mouth couldn’t or the lethal smile Louis always wore just before they pulled another prank.

His mouth twitches like it wants to frown and he’s resolved to stop doing that – _thinking_.

About the boys or the way they quietly ended the band or how he’s _just Zayn Malik_ now.

Well, mostly.

He’s Zayn Malik and a little bit more because, quietly, he admitted in an interview, post-breakup, how madly in love he was with Liam Payne. Then he was Zayn Malik, _boyfriend of Liam Payne_ , and, slowly, just Zayn and Liam, again.

Just _Zayn and Liam_ and a few dozen – or hundreds – of headlines, all starting with _‘former boyband members of One Direction are more than just shagging about – they’re getting married,_ ’ before they were quietly forgotten for bigger stories.

Well, maybe they just weren’t as _noticeable_ as Harry or Louis’ footy career or that time Niall was caught snogging some pretty British model at a club.

He tugs down the ends of his knit jumper until the sleeves brush over his knuckles. He smiles to himself.  It’s sinking into that euphoria at the way, sometimes, he can remain in this private view of life without the world focusing on them anymore.

Officially, just Zain and Liam Malik to their families. And, now, Bahir too.

He’s got charcoal smeared on his fingertips, along his palm, with a giant sketchbook in his lap. He’s tilting his head to look at the wall, looking for his inspiration.  Zayn is certain it’s there, between all of the colors and mayhem, but there’s no pressure to find it.

Zayn mostly auctions his artwork off or snaps off pictures of it for his Instagram or offers it up to his mum whenever she stops in for a visit.

“Remember this song?”

There’s soft breathing in the background, hands fiddling with the dock station until something familiar tickles into Zayn’s ears. He has this dreadful smile on his lips when he hears _‘when your legs don’t work like they used to before and I can’t sweep you off of your feet’_ before he turns on the carpet to look up at the archway.

The house is still dark, creating this midnight glow outside of the room, but Liam looks like a crystallized sun.

He stumbles in with messy hair, a bare chest and joggers very low on his waist, and Bahir sitting on his hip. Bahir is pressing delicate fingers into Liam’s skin, trying to latch on, with bright eyes and the pacifier still between his shiny lips.

“ _Leeyum_ – “

Zayn’s groan is cut off by Liam’s mild laugh. “I couldn’t help it,” he pleads, lifting Bahir a little higher.  “This little bugger won’t go t’sleep.”

There’s a moment between their stares filled with _‘will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?’_ while Liam takes lazy steps forward.

“S’your fault,” Zayn mumbles, patting to an empty space next to him.

Liam drags his feet to get closer, lifting his brow with a crooked smile crinkling his eyes. It’s so _‘will your eyes still smile from your cheeks’_ that Zayn has to sigh out a shaky breath to stop his grin.

“Maybe,” Liam admits, slowly lowering next to Zayn, “but I sort of recall you being quite the tosser back when we first got ‘im.”

Zayn looks away, momentarily, because it’s _almost_ true.

Bahir was just a year old, in a huge house he didn’t recognize. He was always so nervous, on the verge of tears, and Zayn could only think to cradle him to his bare chest.  Just the soft hum of his voice to calm him.  His muffled singing that Bahir heard through the hollows of his chest.

Slow strolls around the house until Bahir was comfortable, no longer scratching at Zayn’s skin like he was panicked.

Four months later and Zayn still thinks the imprint of Bahir’s ear is just under the red lips and wings stained across his chest.

“S’not true,” he grumbles but Liam’s hand is already shifting into his hair until he turns back to them. “He didn’t sleep well.”

Liam hums, half-smirking. He nods at Zayn while scratching gently along his scalp.

It’s so fucking _soothing_ that Zayn can’t remember all of the words he wanted to say to defend himself.

He merely mouths _‘and darling I will be loving you until we’re seventy’_ to Liam, partly to Bahir.

“Brings back memories, yeah?” Liam grins. He wriggles his eyebrows at Zayn until he’s smiling back.

Until –

(Somewhere in the States, he remembers.

Their third tour in just as many years and he’s exhausted. Too knackered from the travel and the constant buzz of adrenaline and their world is so _different_ now.

On the surface, Liam is so different now.

He’s not sure of the city – somewhere north, possibly near the ocean, too quiet for Louis but just the kind of _at-home-easiness_ that Harry loves – but he remembers everything else so vividly.

It’s a small room backstage of the arena, during the opening act. There’s the usual madness backstage, people roaming in and out of the room, Niall’s laughter down the hall while he gives the wardrobe department shit.  Louis, another room over, competing in a FIFA tournament with the band, Harry exploring everything he’s seen in a dozen different stadiums now.

The couch is a ratty shit piece of furniture. It’s the kind of leather that cracks easily, leaves your skin that sickening slick from the sweat.  But it’s oddly comfortable in ways Zayn doesn’t think about.

But, maybe, it’s because he’s in here with Liam.

He’s sprawled across the sticky leather with his head in Liam’s lap and thick, familiar, calloused fingers carding through his hair. A thumb is sweeping all of the fringe Zayn’s grown out away from his forehead and he occasionally tips his head up and away from the television to look at Liam.

Soft, quiet, happy Liam.

He hasn’t seen this side of Liam for most of the tour and, partly, Zayn thinks – no, he _hopes_ – it’s because they don’t spend as much time together offstage as they do when they’re performing.

He thinks maybe it’s because of _her_.

He remembers her name and her frankly dead eyes and her title.

It takes him awhile – and a few shots of sick rum, thanks Louis – to swallow it all down but he understands.

He gets what Liam is doing or the loud, loud way he lives his life now.

_Out of control_ , everyone else calls it, or a tinge of rebellion but Zayn recognizes it’s something else.

Still, it’s a tiny bit devastating to watch.

But Liam’s got a warm hand pressed to Zayn’s chest, thumping along to Ed Sheeran and, randomly, talking about the album and his favorite songs or his favorite lines.

He keeps repeating _‘and baby my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three’_ like the line was written for him, even if he’s not quite twenty-one.

Even if he’s repeating it to Zayn like he’s _trying to_ , under the cover of a pinched smile, admit something.

His lips curl into this fond grin when Zayn giggles at him. They stay quiet – because it’s what they do, it’s how they exist – and Zayn’s fingers find the ones Liam has on his chest.

It’s an absent motion from their first flight together and their first performance and their first _goodbye_ when Zayn’s grandfather died when he fits his fingers between Liam’s.  Liam, thankfully, doesn’t flinch away and gives Zayn’s fingers a small squeeze.

A small reminder that they haven’t changed terribly.

Just their circumstances have.

It’s right after _‘and I’m thinking ‘bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways’_ that Liam licks at his lips.  His eyes go a little dark, out of focus.  It’s all so brief that Zayn swears he imagines it.  It’s just some dumb fantasy because this is the closest they’ve been in forever but –

His eyelashes bat rapidly when Liam leans down. He scoots up and angles his head even though he knows it’s a bad idea.  It’s an awful thought.

But Liam laughs right near his face, cheeks flushed, and it’s Zayn that kisses the sound off his lips.

He presses up with a soft groan in his throat. Liam’s hand cups the back of his head to keep him steady.  To anchor him and keep him right there.

Its Liam’s muffled moan that starts it. Their lips moving lazily, just a soft slide until Zayn hears that choked noise and he can’t help himself.  He kisses Liam roughly, flicks his tongue over candy lips – still tasting like morning coffee and lunchtime chocolate and _Christ, Liam_ – until Liam opens his mouth.

It’s a proper kind of snog with heavy panting and his hand reaching up to brush over Liam’s buzzed hair.  They don’t fumble like that first kiss, the second one either.  They kiss until it _hurts_ and, afterwards, Liam kisses him tenderly while lowering Zayn’s head into his lap again.

His lips feel swollen, numb, and Liam gives him this astutely blank expression that he _hates_.

He can hear it, the _‘I fall in love with you every single day,’_ when Liam’s thinking too hard while staring at Zayn.  Right _there_ , in his eyes, it’s obvious.  He looks half-concerned and mostly lost and, regrettably, tortured.

“I’m sorry,” Liam whispers.

Of course he apologizes. Liam is so _proper_ about it all and keen on pleasing everyone else.  Because it’s inappropriate to kiss someone, your bandmate, your best mate when you have someone else attached to you.

Someone like a – Zayn can’t even bother to give her that title.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. Just a kiss between mates – again.  Nothing to fret over, he thinks, but it’s the sound of his heart that disturbs him most.

Or the way Liam drags the back of his hand over his mouth like he’s trying to wipe it away, like someone might notice how puffy his lips are or the little bruises Zayn’s teeth created.

Zayn brushes his own fingers softly over his lips like he’s trying to press the feeling into his skin, into his memory, out of spite, of course.

“We’re in Massachusetts,” Paul will tell him seconds before they go onstage, patting his shoulder with that fatherly grin.

Zayn smiles back and Liam slaps his bum on the way up the ramp, smirking over his shoulder. He can’t help grinning back, chasing after Liam and it feels, for a moment, like nothing’s changed at all.

Liam makes sure, all during their songs, he knows _nothing has changed_.)

His mind is fuzzy and out of sorts when he stops thinking.

Liam’s watching him, carefully. “Alright?”

Zayn smiles back, nodding. Liam’s still giving him this docile look but he waves it off.

“M’good.”

Liam shoots him this clever little smile, thoughtful but warm, that he loses half of his breath over.

It’s still so _easy_ for Liam to corrupt him like that.  With stupid smile and bright eyes.  So pathetic.

He’s shaking his head when Liam lifts Bahir out of his lap. Bahir instantly waddles over towards Zayn on shaky feet, still growing accustomed to being able to walk.  He’s almost as clumsy as Liam on his feet but with wider eyes, an ecstatic smile when he crosses the five tiny steps it takes to get to Zayn.

Zayn scoops him up, brushing a soft kiss to his temple. “You good babe?” he asks with a rough voice.

Bahir giggles in his arms, snuggling into his neck.

“Goofy rabbit,” Liam huffs with a soft laugh, “that one is.”

Zayn’s all tongue pressed to his teeth with his crooked smirk. He cups the back of Bahir’s head and nudges closer to Liam.

“It was a bit of a mess,” Liam says, looking down at his upturned palms, “back then, I mean. Y’know, like.  Just was, I s’ppose.”

Zayn nods slowly. “A little,” he replies.  He hopes Liam doesn’t notice the wobble in his voice.

He knows, if they were around, the other boys would. They _always_ did.

(Louis thought they were complete idiots.

Harry thought they were just _‘destined lovers_ ’ like you read about in novels, fighting the odds and stumbling off the right path.

Niall called them _‘two horny twats who need to shag all of this out ‘cause good sex fixes ev’rything’_ but that was mostly when he was pissed off his arse and all giggly after a show.

But Zayn is almost certain it was all three. It was that lull after Danielle, where Liam snuggled up to him at night and there was always this _‘just maybe’_ between them that they didn’t act on.  That awkward period where Zayn filled his life with Perrie because, well, it was _easier_.

Easier pining over your best mate. Watching him from a distance.  Collecting dust on this stupid heart because Liam just didn’t notice Zayn, not like that.

And that sudden collapse of his lungs when Liam started dating some girl from his hometown. Some former classmate.  Someone who filled all of the spaces Zayn was supposed to fill.

Then, after Zayn called off the wedding because he _couldn’t_.  Because they made better friends than anything else.  When he spent three nights buried in Liam’s arms for comfort, he supposes, but it felt like for a complete different set of reasons.

When every other breath he wanted to whisper an _‘I love you’_ to Liam’s neck, he waited.

He waited for _something_.

A week later, when the headlines all read _‘Liam Payne ends romance with hometown sweetheart,’_ he let Liam whimper softly on his shoulder while they listened to Kanye with clenched hands.  They fell asleep with sweaty palms and Zayn promising never to bring _her_ up and Liam smiling into his shoulder.

And when the other boys barreled through the door the next morning offering sympathy and a string of _‘you’ll be just fine, Leeymo, trust us – ‘_

Liam never let his hand go.

And three whole months later, when they were dazed and still holding hands even though they were both over _‘crying about silly romances,’_ he thinks, _wow_.

It’s all he can really think, back then.

That first _real_ kiss after a night at the cinema – their first _real_ date, though they were both too nervous to call it that – with honest eyes and no intentions of forgetting it this time and Liam smiling afterwards like.

Like he’s been waiting ages just to kiss Zayn like that.)

“But sort of worth it, y’think?” Liam teases with a hand squeezing at Zayn’s thigh.

“A little,” Zayn laughs.

“Idiot,” Liam grins and it’s bordering smugness except for those lights behind his eyes. The softness.  “A complete wanker, that’s you.  Heartless.”

Zayn chokes out a laugh that startles Bahir a little. He calms him with a kiss to the forehead.

“Good Kanye tune,” Zayn smirks.

He can remember Liam humming half of that album in his ear, somewhere back in the X-Factor house when they were too young to understand the universe. Or that they were comets – fucking _meteors_ seconds from colliding and creating something else.

Somewhere lost in a bunk, together, fingers brushing in time to the beats and crinkled eyes staring at each other in disbelief.

No, in awe – of that moment, that start, that little way Zayn always licked his lips when Liam changed the thrum of his voice.

Liam groans while rolling his eyes. “You’re horrible.”

“And you’re pretty sick, babe,” Zayn adds, leaning in, “when you start singing in the bathroom, like. It’s crazy, man.  The acoustics or summat, man.  Still sounds so good.”

Liam blushes and thumbs up the inseam of Zayn’s jeans to distract him.

Bahir pops his pacifier out of his mouth for a soft yawn, stretching wide like a broken star against Zayn, before he’s reaching up to pull at Zayn’s hair. Zayn snorts in his ear.  He gently drags his stubble along Bahir’s cheek with a strong hand palming his spine and free fingers twisting around Liam’s.

They are his gravity. His pull when the world keeps pushing, tugging.  His core.

It all sounds silly in his head but when he looks up through his lashes, Liam smiles at him like he gets it.

There’s little effort put into the way his mouth naturally slides wider. He tries, miserably, to hide it behind Bahir’s head but Liam’s peeking over him – _the bastard_ – and their fingers keep squeezing in time to the music.  Zayn thinks it’s impossible to feel this –

He doesn’t have the word on his tongue but it’s somewhere in his vocabulary.

Somewhere in his barely functioning brain because everything else is _Liam_.  Like being eighteen again.  Eighteen and craving just a kiss from your best mate.

“C’mere,” Liam says, all soft and smiling. There’s a sleepiness in his voice too but Zayn barely notices.

Liam pushes up to his feet, still twisting his fingers with Zayn’s, and gives a tender pull.

Zayn shoots him a confused look. He blindly finds Bahir’s pacifier, slipping it back between his lips.  His brow wrinkles on instinct and Liam bites down on a corner of his bottom lip before giving him a lopsided grin, his nose scrunching up just slightly.

“Hey,” he says, thick with exhaustion but still so happy, “Get up here with me, yeah? Just wanna dance so ‘mon babe.”

Zayn hesitates with lips tilting downward.

Liam shakes his head with a laugh that pulls up his shoulders around his neck, crinkles his eyes gently, spreads his mouth wide.

“C’mon on now, you,” Liam giggles, keeping his resolve as he loosely pulls on Zayn’s fingers. “You’re not skipping out on this like you did at our wedding – “

(It’s a hazy afternoon, just outside of London. A quiet Saturday with nerves twisting around his veins and a small collection of just their family and mates watching them.

Just Liam facing him with a raw-bitten bottom lip, wide eyes, and this unrelenting smile exposing the flush of his cheeks.

Three years after the madness stopped and his world tilted for another reason. In another direction, as cheesy as that might sound.

He can’t remember half of the words they exchanged or the soft feel of Liam’s bruised lips along his own but he recalls everything afterwards –

Liam’s warm hand on the dip of his back for hours. His smile shoved into the crook of Zayn’s neck whenever someone congratulated them.  His spare fingers mucking up Zayn’s hair to get his attention.  His soft, happy voice when he pleads, over and over, for Zayn to dance with him.

That gentle, hungry kiss in the middle of a small dance floor with a dozen cameras flashing at them but all he saw was the fucking _stars_ in Liam’s eyes.

And not a single pap or any of the media knew about it. It was small, intimate, _private_ like Zayn dreamt about long before Liam.

Just a small tweet from Niall – **_‘congrats to @zaynmalik and @Real_Liam_Payne !! The lads finally did it Sick! Payno needs to change his tweet name haha. anyone fancy a party??’_** – and a black and white snapshot of them with their foreheads pressed together in the middle of the dance floor posted on Harry’s Instagram.

The rest was silence.

The rest was Zayn’s heart louder than anything other than Liam’s soft words in his ears, reminding him constantly, “This is _mad_ , babe.  We’ve gone and gotten married.  How sick is that?”)

Zayn fiddles with a grin on his lips before sighing loudly. He secures an arm around Bahir and struggles to his feet – which is mostly Liam pulling him up but he doesn’t mention that to watch the strong muscles quiver underneath Liam’s skin – with a small laugh.

The music is still beating in the background, just a simple _‘take me into your loving arms, kiss me under the light of a thousand stars’_ that Zayn knows too well.  He keeps an arm around Bahir, his free hand cupping the nape of Liam’s neck to keep him close.  Hands shift up and down his waist, playful but kind, until Zayn’s thoroughly distracted from the gleam in Liam’s eyes.

Liam chews at his bottom lip like he always does when he’s anxious. He ducks his head a little before he starts to sway their hips.

Zayn still can’t dance properly. He’s clumsy and his feet won’t cooperate.  He tries to hide his frustration towards his struggling rhythm by looking down but Liam –

Liam’s fingers grip his waist tightly. They guide him and he doesn’t complain when Zayn steps on his feet.  He laughs into the shell of Zayn’s ear and presses his chest to Bahir’s spine to keep him steady between them.

He whispers _‘place your head on my beating heart’_ when Bahir presses back into him and stealthily uses his fingers to brush at Zayn’s chin.

“This is quite mad, innit?” he says, soft and confident.

Zayn lifts his chin, blinking at Liam.

Liam grins with pink spotted over his cheeks. “That I still sort of feel mental about you whenever I get to look at you.  Like _this_ , like.  I mean,” Liam stammers and smiles sheepishly.  He tries to laugh it out but it doesn’t quite work.  “It’s just sort of sick, innit? _Us_.”

Zayn swallows before smiling. “Us,” he repeats because it feels light on his tongue.

“I still get to look at your face. It’s just.  ‘s crazy, mate,” Liam sighs.

Zayn rolls his eyes with Bahir’s warm forehead pressed to his collarbone.

“You’ve seen my face every day for, like, I dunno. _Six years_ with the lads?” Zayn offers.  He watches the crease between Liam’s eyebrows with a laugh caught in his throat.  “I was practically sat in your lap f’most of that time, man.”

Liam shakes his head with a wrinkled nose, a stupid smile. “You weren’t.”

Zayn shrugs nonchalantly. “Most of it, I s’ppose.”

They let the music fill in the gaps that they don’t want to talk about.  The spaces where Zayn wasn’t right there, next to Liam, trying to focus on how quickly the world was moving around them.

Instead, they sing lowly to each other and Zayn mouths out _‘I’m thinking out loud that maybe we found love right where we are’_ just as Liam shyly slides a few fingers underneath Zayn’s shirt.

“I ran into Harry in LA,” Liam says, cautiously turning them on the carpet. His thumb presses into the heart on Zayn’s hip.  “Had lunch with ‘im.  S’nice seeing him.”

Zayn nods, nervously tugging on his lip. He loses some of his balance but Liam’s fingers hold him in place.

_Safe_ , he thinks.

“Chatted about working on some stuff for his new record,” Liam shrugs. His fingers fit into Zayn’s hair – his favorite place just near the nape of Zayn’s neck where it’s thicker – before he looks up.  “He’s got some pretty sick ideas, I think.”

Zayn hums, smirking. Harry always does.

“He told me he misses Lou,” Liam giggles with scrunched eyes.

Zayn wriggles his eyebrows and he can’t contain his own laughter. He remembers them – too young to know any better, too excited not to touch each other, too in _love_ to ever say it out loud – and wonders if he and Liam were ever that poor at hiding things.

Niall reminds him, with an uneven smile and bright eyes, all of the time that they were. Sickeningly obvious and oblivious all in the same breath.

They sway slower to _‘and the crowds don’t remember my name’_ and smile at each other.

“I was a wee bit arse over tit about you back then,” Liam mumbles, slotting their hips together suggestively. “That day – at the Roundhouse?”

Zayn lifts a quick eyebrow. “At the iTunes thingy?” he wonders.  It’s a grainy memory among all of the other moments, the brief touches, the _too-fast-but-slow_ kisses.

But he remembers.

Liam blushes and glances at their feet rather than Zayn’s face.

“I wasn’t obvious enough, right?” Liam laughs but it sounds nervous. He looks shy with his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks and his fingers twitching along Zayn’s chest.  They flutter against his ribs to the outrageous beat of Zayn’s heart.  “D’you think – nevermind.”

Zayn’s brow raises on instinct but he doesn’t push. He knows, in the pit of his stomach, Liam is still anxious when it comes to admitting stuff like this.  His thoughts, his feelings, the way he was probably head over heels not long after Zayn even if Zayn’s still not quite sure when that was.

“Like, it’s quite stupid but,” Liam pauses, still looking incredibly abashed about it all, “I still remember what your stupid letter jacket smells like. That one time we all switched up and – “

“I wore your shirt,” Zayn grins. He squints his eyes to watch the uncomfortable blush spread down Liam’s neck.

Liam’s fingers press firmly to his heart then. He nods, biting his lip.  “I can’t believe I still think about stuff like that, y’know?”

A throaty laugh vibrates along the roof of Zayn’s mouth. His hand shifts up the nape of Liam’s neck, into his hair.

“I remember.”

“Like I’d just be sat in that jacket and,” Liam looks away again, “thinking about you. The way you smell.  The stupid _Gucci by Gucci_ you’d wear but, still, like it was – was a bit nice, y’know?  Your scent.  Felt like, dunno, like I was so happy sitting there.”

Zayn doesn’t admit to anyone that he still remembers the scent of Liam’s collar or the way that plaid shirt was so loose but warm around his shoulders.

Or the way he begged Caroline for that shirt long after their first tour was over.

He licks his lips slowly before brushing them against Bahir’s temple. He smirks and says, just loud enough for Liam to hear, “I think I was a little in love before that.  Like, almost properly.”

Liam looks up and Zayn gives him a crooked smile immediately.

He doesn’t explain and hopes he never has to do but –

(Zayn supposes he should feel out of his fucking mind right now.

Like, he should be proper bricking it at this moment.

There’s another audition looming over him and there’s amazing talent crowding every little street. There’s the constant echo of singers practicing in the toilets and people with huge, massive personalities _everywhere_ and he here is.

Just some dumb luck lad from Bradford trying to reach a dream.

Except he’s not thinking about any of that, really.

He’s smiling, stupidly, while sharing chips and half of a spicy chicken sandwich with another lad who has a shy smile, chunky fringe falling in his brown eyes, and this addictive laugh that Zayn wants to hear for hours.

In a corner of a McDonald’s where no one is really paying them any attention but Zayn swears everyone’s eyes are on them. On _him_.  On the way he can’t quite take his gaze off of this boy’s cheekbones or the way his long, slender fingers look when they wrap around his half of the sandwich.

“It’s just a bit mad, innit?” he says to Zayn, grinning anxiously. “Like, they’re gonna do another Batman film.  I can’t wait.  Should be incredible.”

_You’re incredible_ , Zayn thinks and that’s where it ends.

Liam Payne is just some boy that he will never see again because he’s not making it past this next audition. Liam has a brilliant voice and these soft, warm eyes and the kind of laugh that all of Europe will fall for.

So, out of complete madness and unmistakable instinct, Zayn bumps his knuckles with Liam’s when they reach for a handful of chips. He smears ketchup on Liam’s cheek and laughs and tilts his head to watch the pink flush along Liam’s skin after he wipes the ketchup off.

He decides, in that stupid moment, he never wants to stop watching Liam if he can help it.)

Liam sways out of rhythm for a second, tilting his head at Zayn.

Zayn sniffs at him. Something familiar and fuzzy starts up in his stomach, his heart thumping impatiently.  It still feels so brand new he almost doesn’t understand it but he leans over the crown of Bahir’s head.  He watches Liam smile goofily before he presses his mouth to Liam’s, just for the taste.

Liam kisses back without the encouragement. He garbles a moan at the back of his throat while smoothing a hand through Zayn’s hair, tangling in its length.  It’s the kind of kisses he loves – leaning on the edge of filthy with a quick swipe of tongue but still so soft, generous.  Liam’s teeth catch his bottom lip and Zayn _tastes_ the groan Liam shoves into his mouth before he feels it.

It almost goes frantic and he almost ruts his hips against Liam’s but then Bahir is yawning between them, clutching at Zayn’s shirt with small hands.

Liam smirks against his mouth, teasing with a slick tongue.

Zayn pulls back and watches the shine along the seam of Liam’s ruddy lips. He’s a bit breathless.  Liam cups the back of his head to press their foreheads together and brushes a quick laugh against Zayn’s mouth.  He almost whimpers at Liam tracing his tongue over his lip like he’s trying to savor Zayn’s flavor but –

“You’re absolutely mad,” Liam snickers. “I’m going mental thinking about you.”

Bahir yawns again, softer.

Zayn smiles. His fingers catch on the prickles of Liam’s short hairs before he sighs.

“Should probably get ‘im to bed,” he suggests to stop himself from kissing Liam again.

“Yeah,” Liam breathes. “Maybe give ‘im a bath first?  Use some of that scented stuff mum brought up on her last visit.”

There’s an ache right down the middle of Zayn’s chest at that – the way Liam still calls _his_ mum, not Liam’s, by that name.

Because Karen calls Zayn _‘son’_ and Yaser always yanks Liam into a tight hug before whispering _‘beta’_ at him and, well.

He can’t stand to think of anything else, so he doesn’t.

He twists just enough away from Liam to tug him towards the door with loose fingers. Bahir sighs happily in his arms and Liam hooks his chin over Zayn’s shoulder, an arm braced around his waist, while they stumble all the way up the stairs towards the bathroom.

 

///

 

They don’t put Bahir in his crib afterwards.

Instead, they giggle all the way to one of the sofas with damp shirts from Bahir’s splashing and their son looking pleased and warm in Liam’s arms.

Zayn sprawls out on the furniture, with Liam’s head in his lap and this feels so _familiar_ –

(The stadium tour, their third one out. Backstage.  Ed Sheeran in the background.  A kiss before an apology and _nothing’s changed_.)

Bahir is sat on Liam’s chest, sucking loudly on his pacifier while petting at Liam’s stubble. He’s stretched out in some silly Batman onesie that Liam insisted upon – and Zayn refuses to argue with him on it – while Liam hums softly.

It’s something Zayn vaguely remembers, a tune his mum loves he’s sure, with his fingers tugging through Liam’s damp hair.

He whispers an _‘I’d go hungry I’d go black and blue I’d go crawling down the avenue’_ while Liam harmonizes quietly.

Liam shoots him an upside down smile with these affectionate eyes that Zayn can’t look away from.

“Christ,” he hisses, low and throaty, “remember our first time?”

Zayn snorts, dragging his thumb along Liam’s hairline.

“Yeah,” he moans gently, watching the stain of blush high on Liam’s cheeks while his hand fumbles low on his stomach, just near the soft outline of his cock in his joggers.

(They’re so clumsy and awkward the first time. Their kisses are fast and messy and their hands don’t know where to start.  They’re barely out of their clothes and laughing into each other’s mouths because –

_Wow_.

They’re awful at first, licking into each other’s mouths and getting tangled in their shirts. The bed is an unsettled sea and their just grinding into it.  Liam accidentally uses his teeth when he sucks Zayn off and Zayn makes a mess of the lube on his thighs while trying to finger himself open.  Their lips are swollen from kissing too long because they’re so nervous.

They’re anxious and a bit off – and all of Harry’s tips about shagging don’t work, the arsehole.

It takes him a long, long time to adjust to Liam’s cock stretching all of his muscles. He holds his breath, even with Liam whispering a steady flow of _‘relax,_ relax _, babe, just take your time, ‘m right here’_ in his ear.  His thighs won’t stop trembling and that little crease between Liam’s eyebrows won’t fade off.  Sticky fingers brush over his calf and it burns low in his stomach for what feels like forever until –

Yes, okay, _wow_.

Liam balances himself on one arm and Zayn’s spine arches instinctively when Liam sinks deep. His fingers clench and tug at the sheets when Liam wiggles his hips and his teeth won’t let go of his bottom lip.  Not until Liam is kissing him, fast and intense, looking awed at the way Zayn takes him in.

They’re so quiet the first time, breathing little noises in Liam’s flat until they’re restless. Liam holds back and Zayn only moans when Liam puts this pressure on his prostate like – _fuck_.

It’s pretty incredible from there.

His cock fattens up and Liam hauls his legs over broad shoulders. He grinds into Zayn with this hard gaze like he’s not giving Zayn enough.  Like he wants to be _everything_ and is failing miserably.

So Zayn kisses him, chokes out a _‘this feels so_ good _, y’have no idea, but y’can go a little faster, babe, fuck me,’_ and Liam curls around Zayn until the mattress starts to squeak loudly.

He drags his hand lazily over his cock while Liam kisses the inside of his ankles, mouths a line of _‘I love you if you didn’t already know’_ to his calf before licking at Zayn’s heel.  His fingers leave bruises on the inside of Zayn’s thighs and Zayn chokes off a noise when he comes.

And he doesn’t stop whimpering the entire time. His muscles contract all over and squeeze Liam so tightly that he sucks in a sharp breath before he pushes all the way into Zayn.  He comes in the condom but Zayn swears he can feel it.

He swear, actually, that he can feel it every single time Liam comes.

Like the fourth time, when they’re too worked up from the adrenaline of another good show to wait.

In the back of some car with tinted windows and their security waving them off rather than riding along.

Zayn on his knees for Liam, licking the foreskin back before tugging it up to cover the pink head.

The noises his throat makes when he swallows and the way Liam’s fingers can’t find a grip on the leather seats so they play in Zayn’s hair instead. They drag along his scalp and, carefully, pull on the thicker portions until Zayn moans obscenely for Liam to _‘fuck my mouth, babe, I need you’_ against the echo of Miguel in the speakers.

It’s a little harder without the massive amounts of lube this time but Liam compromises by shoving Zayn’s skintight jeans down, bending him over the spare seat and licking him out. Zayn tries to shove all of his moans into his forearm but Liam’s tongue on his hole is –

_Liam’s tongue_.

The way he kisses around the rim and spreads Zayn so gently. The flicker of the tip until Zayn quivers.  He can’t spread his thighs enough with his jeans caught around them and Liam teases him.

He fucking licks him slowly for too long before he presses his tongue in. He stiffens it, like his cock, and fucks Zayn loud right there, in the middle of traffic in some foreign city with the partition drawn up and Zayn’s sweaty hands squeaking over the leather.

Zayn crawls into Liam’s lap afterwards, sinks down onto his cock with a lot of effort, and whimpers while riding Liam. He brushes kisses along Liam’s sweaty temple and _can’t_ look away from Liam’s filthy mouth – those pink lips swollen from kissing, licking, practically _fucking_ Zayn’s hole – when Liam grins up at him.

It’s bare and mental, that’s what it is. Absolutely mad but he fucks down on Liam’s cock until his thighs ache and lets Liam ease him back down on the seat to slow grind out the rest.  He comes in Liam’s trembling hand and tenses up when Liam comes inside of him.

And all of their lazy kisses afterwards, while they’re too exhausted to dress properly, feel just right.

They’re _wrecked_ , sweaty with wrinkled clothes when they get back to the hotel and all of the fans outside don’t recognize the love bites Liam smeared down his neck or the way they tangle their fingers together when they’re in the lobby.

But the twelfth time is –

He hasn’t found a word for it yet.

But it’s slow, so incredibly slow.

Underneath a mountain of sheets, against a pile of pillows. In Zayn’s house – no, it’s mostly _theirs_ because Liam sleeps there and records demos in Zayn’s studio and kips with his head in Zayn’s lap while they watch old Pixar films together – on his bed, after a rainstorm.

All of Liam’s kisses taste like _sex_ – musky, tangy, sharp from going down on Zayn’s cock earlier.  There’s sweat on his upper lip, his brow, his hair completely mussed from Zayn’s fingers.

His strong thighs bracket Zayn’s hips and he keens, whines because Zayn thrusts into him with this deliberately patient motion. His jaw goes slack and all of his muscles tighten when Zayn rolls his hips.

When they’re both too quiet, staring at each other like they’re _starving_ and the thunder starts to get loud again, he curves his cock and hits something that makes Liam growl.

And Liam gets louder, shameless with his moans when Zayn really starts to fuck him. He quivers when Zayn fucks into him in a way that’s meant to be brutal but, honestly, it’s _astounding_.

It’s so unfamiliar that it’s brilliant.

Liam goes pliant beneath him when he pulls his cock out, teases around his hole for a long minute. He’s insufferable in a beautiful way, with his lip between his teeth and his fingers all over Zayn’s shoulders and Zayn uses his own fingers instead of his dick to work Liam up again.  He slips in two, then three, and waits until Liam’s voice gives out and his cock leaks messy streaks all over his stomach before he carefully guides his dick back into Liam.

“So tight,” Zayn whispers along Liam’s jaw, rotating his hips to hear Liam mewl, “and so _good_.  You feel so good, keep squeezing me babe.”

Liam _obeys_ and blinks up with eyes darker than black holes.  He goes breathless for a few seconds, fingers curling around Zayn’s hip to keep him deep, and he almost falls apart.

He looks needy and so submissive. It’s a complete contrast between strong, full muscles and soft pleading for Zayn to overwhelm him in his eyes that Zayn comes first.

He slips out, thumbing the head of his cock until he smears Liam’s hole with come and shoves back in to let Liam grind off on his throbbing dick.

His eyes never leave Liam, not even when he leans in to suck pretty marks on Liam’s throat. He watches the way Liam tips his head back, twisting his legs around Zayn’s waist, and pushes back onto Zayn’s cock for the sensation.

Liam comes untouched before Zayn can get a hand between them, broken noises in his throat.

And Zayn kisses him, slowly, all the way back to normal breathing. It’s a first on too many levels for Zayn to comprehend so he waits until Liam falls asleep on his shoulder before me mumbles, “I love you in ways I’ve never been able to handle.”)

Zayn drags the back of his hand over his mouth to shove his smile against his knuckles. He shakes his head at Liam, still admiring those pink cheeks.

“You’re literally chatting about shagging with our son trying to sleep on your chest.”

Liam flushes, glancing down at Bahir. He’s sprawled over Liam now, his breathing evening out.

“He’s practically a man – “

Zayn scoffs but he can’t help the smirk on his lips. “Not even sixteen months, Li.”

“Close enough,” Liam counters, tipping his head back to beam at Zayn.

He shoots Liam a goofy grin because there’s no arguing with him. He’s a little less of a twat than Louis is, a bit more tolerable than Niall when he’s having a strop, but he’s not as willing as Harry to listen to logic.

Maybe that’s why Zayn has always, secretly, he hopes, thought of Liam as his favorite.

“Besides,” Liam smiles, stroking a slow hand down Bahir’s back, “M’not the one sat here with a stiffy thinking about our sex life.”

Liam turns his head a little to brush his cheek over Zayn’s erection for emphasis and Zayn scrunches up immediately because the blush is so hot.

“Shut up.”

Liam shrugs, giggling. “M’just saying, babe.  Quite a hot idea to think about, innit?”

Zayn doesn’t respond but he hitches his hips slightly to shove his covered cock against Liam’s cheekbone.

“We’re not shagging in front of Bahi,” he scolds but there’s not enough heat behind his tone to waver Liam.

“Maybe we can try to make him a sister? Y’know, like, the old-fashion way, right?  Like.  Dunno, we could just keep trying until we – “

Zayn groans again, softer. “Not anatomically possible, babe.”

Liam frowns a little, wrinkling his brow. “Not quite sure what the means, babe,” he hums, adjusting Bahir on his chest, “but I still wanna try.”

“You’re mental,” Zayn mumbles.

“Oi,” Liam moans, softening his voice when Bahir stirs. “Don’t be cross with me.  I just think we should, like, have a proper shag.  D’you not want another little one around here?”

Zayn gives him a small smile. Liam knows he does.  They both do.  A massive family and this same feeling right down in the pit of his stomach.  This burn underneath his skin.

“You’ll still fancy me when ‘m older and we’ve got five little ones and it takes me a little longer to get up the stairs, right?” Liam wonders, tilting his head.

Something sparks like a bonfire right in Zayn’s chest and he chuckles. “Of course, you idiot.”

“And when ‘m too lazy to do anything but lay back and let you ride me?”

Zayn groans into his shoulder. He gives Liam’s hair a soft tug.  “You’re sick.”

“But you’ll still do it, right?”

Zayn pretends to think about it. He waits until Liam makes a wounded sound before giggling, leaning down.  Most of his hair falls in Liam’s face, tickling his mouth into a smile.

“Anything, babe,” Zayn promises with a crooked grin. “I’ll ride you and make y’breakfast and watch old Batman cartoons in our sleep pants, yeah?  We’ll teach Bahi his proper ABC’s.  I’ll listen to you sing until your throat hurts.”

Liam looks flushed – no, he looks sixteen and just as amazed by Zayn as he did then.

“And I’ll suck you off in the shower every morning and I’ll be sat in the middle of the room while you paint,” Liam laughs into Zayn’s mouth, shutting up for a smooth kiss.

They shake together at how languid it goes.

“It’s rather sad how much I’ve missed you, innit?” Liam wonders. His fingers twist in Zayn’s hair, brushing it back.

Zayn doesn’t answer him. He kisses him instead because, he hopes, it says the same thing.

He hopes, after all of these years, the _‘me too’_ isn’t needed.

 

///

 

Zayn thinks, without hesitating, this is what love sounds like –

Bahir’s soft breathing against his chest, Liam’s quiet snoring in his ear, all three of their hearts managing to beat in the same syncopated rhythm for hours.

By far, it’s his favorite sound in this house.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Too fluffy? At least I kept it short this time, right? I really should probably stop writing so many kid fics. It's getting out of hand, yeah?
> 
> Thanks for all the love and the feedback! Reach out to me on tumblr if you'd like [x](http://jmcats.tumblr.com)


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